The Story of Blood and Roses

"I know," he ground out, but his eyes were not on me. His eyes were planted on the building towering over us. "He\'s not on the roof anymore."

"He\'ll be down in a minute," I told him pointlessly. "You can go. I\'ll handle this from here."

"Don\'t be stubborn, Mia. I haven\'t been following you just so I could leave without talking to you," he ground out. I don\'t even know who these people are, or how many of them are there, but I didn\'t want him helping me anymore.

"I\'m not being stu-"

"Then let me stay," he whispered. He placed his hand on my shoulder, firmly squeezing it. I knew that the chances of surviving an ambush were higher if I had backup, and he could be my backup, we had always worked so well together.

"I don\'t have time for this," I mumbled before I sighed. A triumphant smile spread over his features and his hand dropped from my shoulders. He pulled out the gun from his waistband and then placed himself in front of me. The urge to grab hold of his shirt was strong, but my need to protect myself, stronger. I shouldn\'t even need him to save myself.

I would not become one of those other agents, I promised myself.

A dark figure appeared out of the alley and then found its way towards us. As the face of the shooter became visible, I cringed.

"John?" I called out, shocked.

"Who is that?" Anthony asked, confusion evident in his voice. He did not turn back to look at me, though.

"A student of mine..." I grumbled. "Why did they send him on such a mission when they knew that he could die?" And then I remembered that the organization never saw the age of the people who were being pushed into the slaughterhouse, just that the task was done.

"What?"

"Finally found you. For all those bullshit lectures you gave us, you sure are easy to find," he guffawed. I would have rolled my eyes if I didn\'t pity the boy.

"Who sent you?" Anthony asked. I knew the answer already, but I wasn\'t ready to acknowledge the irony of the situation.

"This is my first mission," John spoke proudly.

"And your last," Anthony replied. There was little sound and the sound of a body hitting the concrete. I didn\'t turn to look at the body; I didn\'t need to see it to know that it was a clean kill.

"Mia," he said sternly. "What does this mean?" Anthony Murray did not know what was happening for the first time in his life, and it made me giddy. It made me feel like he was indeed human, that we were on the same plane. This time I had an advantage over him.

"Someone put a hit on me," I told him matter-of-factly.

Forgive

His face turned hard and his finger twitched on the trigger. I kept my smile to myself and walked back to my car.

"How can you be so nonchalant about this? Don\'t you remember how it works?" his voice sounded strained. I could imagine his free hand travelling to his hair and pulling at it painfully as he spoke the words.

"I\'ve been working for them for a long time, so yes. I know." I turned to him, my hand planted firmly on my hips. No point in beating around the bush.

"They are going to send more people until the mission is done. This is a hit, not an undercover job. They sent in a sniper, for heaven\'s sake!" he threw his hands up in the air.

"You can hardly call that boy a sniper;" I snorted. "He was a spoiled brat that needed to be taught a lesson... I bet he was delighted when he got the assignment. He always had a thing against me." I pondered on the thought for a second. "He didn\'t have to die for his attitude problem, though." I sighed.

I crawled inside the thing and retrieved my cell phone and ring.

"Why didn\'t that pitiful fiancé of yours not stop the hit from being carried out?" he hissed. Of course, the words were meant to insult.

"He was with me," I rolled my eyes as I saw his fists clench at his sides. "He\'s not my fiancé any longer, though," I informed him. There was no need to, but I couldn\'t control the information from slipping out of my lips. His eyes widened with surprise at the news.

"Is that why he put a hit on you?" he asked, astonished that someone could do that, but he—of all people, should know how easy it would be to betray someone you said you loved. I think the look in my eyes told him exactly what I thought. He stood his ground, though. He knew what he had done, and if he thought someone had done the same, he would be a hypocrite and kick their ass for me. I knew he would.

In reality, I just wanted to believe that I knew him. Loving him was not an easy task, and disillusionment seemed like the best way for it to hurt me less, to part without letting my hands get tainted with more blood. I wanted a new life and none of the grief from my present one.